


and so it shall be

by goldfinchex



Series: certainly, make me fall [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Getting Together, Hogwarts AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfinchex/pseuds/goldfinchex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Maxwell groans. "And you panic." </em>
</p><p>Or: A story of how Evelyn Trevelyan, Slytherin Seeker extraordinaire, finally gets the guts to ask a Hufflepuff girl out. Oh, I am sure that you know of how the stories tell of two noble girls at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and so it shall be

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Underaged things are mentioned, e.g., underaged drinking, so if you're simply not into reading about characters drinking Firewhiskey on occasion, I apologise.
> 
> This fic is also probably longer than it needs to be, but I'm too indulgent. There's a fair amount of Trevelyan & Other Characters before Josephine/Trevelyan does happen. Editing it is in order but it's 3am on the 26th of December in this part of the world at the moment, so. Yeah. Happy reading?

It is nothing new, this thing about being different.

She is lucky, they say, to have been born a witch. To have been born a Trevelyan.

Ah. Well. Perhaps Lady Luck deemed her too ugly a baby to bother herself further with then.

*

 

Evelyn has always been different. One of the most insignificant of her differences is how she is sure that muggles will look upon her and call her a travesty. Maybe if she's burned at the stake for being an abomination she would have something to say against such discrimination, but for now, she does not care that muggles feared witches and wizards even though the same type of blood coursed through their veins. Blood, on the other hand, means so much to her. The only daughter in a family line rife with males. Fine boned and tall (gangly, more like) in a family that has produced only the strongest brawlers for ages, not that her family parades that, of course, it simply wouldn’t do for those practically noble to flaunt the most crass of pastimes so blatantly, or for the best of magical bloodlines to boast that they are so greatly proficient in the art of muggle fist exchanges. At least she still retains her family's colouring. But above all, she is a pure blood.

_Pure blood._

Another term for inbred and insane. Thank the gods her family is free of the insanity that tainted the (now extinct) Black family, or the narcissist tendencies that power families like the Malfoys. But blood does not constitute everything, as her eleven year old self had known only too well on the very first day of school.

 

*

 

Thankfully succeeding at not tripping over her own legs, she clambers into the boats with the other first years. Maxwell has told her that Rubeus Hagrid, the giant man with a mound of white hair and beard, has been the Hogwarts groundskeeper for as long as anyone could remember. She looks at his grizzled face when he bends down to help them onto the boats and sees eyes which sides are crinkled with an aeon's worth of smile lines and thinks that Maxwell isn’t lying, but does he ever?

They cross the Great Lake together. She is on the same boat as the half-giant, and she cannot stop herself from staring at his huge form. The tangle of the white beard. The dirt on the bottom of his clothes and how the brown garb has been patched over so many times — she has never seen anyone with mended clothes. Even the poorest citizens in her family's ancestral hold, the wizarding village of Ostwick and Elian, wore clothing that didn’t show such signs of wear. His voice is loud and booming and altogether foreign, but it comforts her, and she thinks that it is like how a man would soothe a startled stray.

Of course, she is no stray cat that trembles at the sight of men, and there is little the other children do to make her think otherwise. They look at her, and she can catch their whispers of _eyes like mom's champagne drinks!_ , _a Trevelyan?_ , _one of those really old and noble families,_ and _isn't her father the head of the Welsh Chantry?_. Her hands tremble as she turns her face away from them. Is anonymity too hard to wish for? After all, she isn’t even the heir to the Trevelyan fortune, or the Trevelyan lands. Maxwell is.

Hagrid notices her discomfort, and despite his advanced age, he hears whispers by the comparatively tiny first years before him, and he speaks over them, telling them about how the Great Lake housed a Giant Squid and countless merpeople. Why, the Triwizard Tournament was held here in these very waters nearly two decades ago! Harry Potter himself was a competitor here!

Still, the curious stares of the other children do not go away, and she feels them on the back of her head when they leave the dark waters and enter the glowing warmth of the castle.

Nothing prepares her for the Sorting. Maxwell has told her all about it, about how they are placed in this room beside the Great Hall, that they'd be filed out after a load of hogwash and called for the sorting. These details do nothing to abate her nerves. The other first years cannot be more worried than she is. None of them wish to be sorted into Slytherin, she has heard, because of the events that transpired when she was still an infant. Naturally, none of her future classmates have any idea of what the Second Wizarding War was like. They were all squirming in their bassinets then, and like her, some of them would have been housed in France, their families fleeing a war they did not want to fight. Some of them had no choice, she would later learn, and had to stay in England regardless: insufficient funds, unwilling relatives, or orphaned by the war.

By the time they call her, she is one of the last in the room, and her heart is in her throat when she approaches the Sorting Hat.

"Trevelyan, Evelyn."

When she moves into the Great Hall, she sees that Maxwell has already saved a seat beside him among the throng of yellow and black for her. She spies his cheery grin and offers a watery smile in return.

The hat barely touches her head when it bellows, "SLYTHERIN!", and her heart falls into her gut and she nearly shrieks and flees as the hat is lifted from her. She barely hears the obligatory clapping from the Slytherin table, and everything seems to spin as she scrambles to gather her thoughts. Is the ceiling enchanted with a whirlwind?

Sorted into Slytherin. _Slytherin_.

What would her family think? Is she a true born of the Trevelyans? Blood. Blood. It has meant so much to her all along. Make father proud. Make mother proud. Do not grieve publicly — no one can see a Trevelyan cry — she wasn’t allowed to cry when she broke both her legs. Hold your head up, back straight, shoulders back, at every function that her Great-Aunt Lucille hosts. Nothing short of perfect would do for the most noble family of Trevelyan, _modest in temper, bold in deed,_ founded back in the 12 th century, Anno Domini, by the most holy Crusader Petroc Trevelyan, Order of Merlin, Second Class, in recognition of his great contributions towards the field of healing magic.

Steeling her nerves, she walks to the Slytherin table. Great-Aunt Lucille would be proud of her posture. Maxwell, at the Hufflepuff table, is the first non-Slytherin standing and clapping for her. Following his example, a few others at his table begin to applaud. Already, she can hear the whispers the children from the other wizarding families would say, of how she is the first Trevelyan to be sorted into Slytherin, ever. For now, however, their expressions are simply incredulous.

The food, however sumptuous, tastes ashen in her mouth as she dutifully cuts the potatoes and chicken into little pieces, avoiding the pumpkin juice entirely. She has always disliked pumpkin juice. From two tables away, Maxwell gulps the drink down with abandon, as if he has not been allowed any of it through summer. Maybe this was all a bad dream, and she would wake up from it and return to drinking ice-cold lemonade with Maxwell by her side after a long game of Quidditch. A pinch. Nope. Not a dream.

She cannot leave, and so, instead, she introduces herself to the other Slytherins — not that there are many at her table in comparison to the other ones — and they bid her a warm welcome. By the time she follows the prefects to the Slytherin dorms, her cheeks are stiff from smiling and her heart is cold with the dread at having to write home. The prefects' little speech of welcome does not ease her in any way. In fact, it reinforces her fears, that Slytherin is The House Despised By All, and that her parents would _hate_ her once they know of her sorting. It is a mercy that she does not spill any of the ink onto the parchment when she drafts her letter home.

 _Dear father and mother_ ,

 _I hope this letter finds you well._ _Without any preambles, I need to inform you of my sorting into the House of Slytherin before Maxwell's own letter makes it to you_. _It has shaken me most greatly, but I will not quail in front of the other students at Hogwarts, fret not. Maxwell has sought me out earlier tonight, leaving the fold of Hufflepuffs. I must say that I am grateful that he has braved the Slytherins to offer me some solace. I am tired tonight, and I would not force you to read a letter of my petty concerns. Thus, I bid you good night. I promise to always have my wits about me as I navigate my way through this new school, with its age old customs that I have to learn for myself._

_Your Faithful Daughter,_

_Evelyn Chesten Trevelyan._

When she heads for bed that night, she is stopped by a girl with hair shaved down to her dark scalp, a girl whose lips and eyes are full and wide.

"I saw how you handled yourself earlier. May I ask, why did you not want to be sorted into Slytherin?" Evelyn thinks that the girl sounds as proud as her cheekbones dictate.

She flushes. Someone has noticed that she didn’t want to be in Slytherin.

"Family, you understand. The Trevelyans have always been Hufflepuffs." She makes her voice as flippant as can be.

The girl smirks. "Ah. Puffs are good enough, but Slytherin is the best. Don’t let any of the others tell you otherwise. At any rate, you were quite brilliant out there. I don't think anyone noticed your… lapse. I'm Vivienne. Second year."

"Thanks. I'm Trevelyan, Evelyn Trevelyan," and impulsively, she adds, "but you may call me Evie."

 

*

 

Her parents are none too pleased about her sorting.

Christmas breakfast that year is a very tense affair.

At the Christmas Ball, her relatives all express their dismay that she is sorted into Slytherin, and her ears burn all night whenever she deflects their remarks with an easy grin, but before long, she excuses herself to hide in a secluded corner of the house, not wanting any of the other guests — Trevelyan or not — to see her misery. Maxwell seeks her out quickly enough to place a soothing hand on her shoulder, and she cries into her brother's comforting embrace.

"Loyalty. Fraternity. Family. Evie, come on, don’t let them get you down. We're still family. Shh, shh, don't fret. Snakes and Puffs aren’t that different."

She looks up at him then. They aren’t, but when she instead replies, "The distinction is all too clear in the House of Trevelyan."

Her brother has nothing to say to that, and the two look on at the party below. It is a grand party, to be sure, grand and beautiful as it has always been. Ice sculptures, champagne fountains, paper birds charmed to fly, prancing topiary pieces in the gardens that allow the youngest of children to mount them for a ride, endless black furniture trimmed with gold, a string quartet dressed in the Trevelyan colours playing in a corner, a small crowd that mills around and is stopped occasionally by one of the Trevelyan hosts… Nothing has changed, but everything has. This, she knows with conviction.

 

*

 

She made Chaser for Slytherin in her second year, and has since played well enough that the rest of the team has little protest to offer when she tries out for Seeker in her fourth year.

Vivienne gives her a congratulatory grin when she is named Seeker, and whispers that Evelyn will undoubtedly be made the Slytherin Quidditch Captain by her sixth year. It's but two years that she has to wait for the mantle of captain to be passed onto her. They have a new captain this year, one of the Beaters, Ferro Ironside, known to them as the Iron Bull. He towers over them, and everyone thinks that he's a quarter giant at the very least, though he flies as swiftly as the game demands, and swings the bat with such force that the other teams have always wanted to call foul on him, but cannot. Maxwell, being another beater himself, has long complained that the Iron Bull was a menace on the Quidditch Pitch, and there is no reason for her to disagree with this assessment.

The Quidditch Tryouts for the Slytherins persist for an entire day. They had to replace two chasers and a keeper this year, and the Iron Bull does not go down easily on the newcomers. Isabela becomes one of the Chasers easily enough, after Evelyn persuades her to join the Team.

She, Vivienne, and Isabela sit at the stands as they watch the tryouts, wincing when Krem's Bludger whams straight into Mahanon Lavellan's nose, and one of the sixth years, Anora, takes the kid to the Hospital Wing. Ah, well. Kid's out of the running then. They continue basking in the autumn sunlight for a bit, chatting about their holidays and exchanging gossip that is already circulating around on the first week of school. With Anora off the pitch, Vivienne relates that the older girl is said to have broken up with Cailan, _thank Andraste_ , because the older boy, however golden and pretty, is _thoroughly unsuitable and a fuck boy_. They cheer when a second year, a small but sturdy girl by the name of Malika Cadash, breaks the Blackwall that is Thom Rainer and finally a goal is scored.

_And, Isabela, are you with anyone?_

_No, of course not, but I would totally tap the Cousland girl's ass._

_Isn't she already with that red head in Ravenclaw?_

_How should I know this?_

_Aren't you on speaking terms with Leliana, Evie?_

_She dislikes you, not me, but that doesn't imply that we are close enough to meddle in each other's private affairs._

_Five Galleons that Leliana and Cousland are together already._

_I'm betting fifteen that they'll get together by the end of the year, I don't think that they're together yet._

_Are you betting, Vivienne?_

_Ah, well, no, but I'll ask that Puff about this — she's close to Leliana._

_Which Puff?_

_The Spanish girl, is it?_

Vivienne supplies a "Josephine Montilyet, from my year, you little infants. She's a prefect, for the Maker's sake.", but Isabela is already cackling as she dips her voice and shares that she's been told that _the Montilyets are close to_ _bankruptcy, did you hear? Josephine Montilyet has best find a way to dig her way to gold_.

Evelyn merely laughs and swipes at Isabela at this, and tells the girl that she might as well donate one of her golden studs to _charity_. Vivienne shushes them lest they meet Leliana's wrath should word about this reaches her ears, friendship with Evelyn or not.

_The girl has ears everywhere, after all._

In the end, it is Kallian's twin brother, Dallian, who scores, and the Slytherin tryouts conclude for the day and the lot of them make their way indoors.

*

It is also in her fourth year when she discovers that she _likes_ girls. Another thing that she must keep from her family, then. Boys, with their overly strong jaw lines and endless hair that covered their bodies, are simply undesirable.

This, she learns the hard way.

It wasn’t even Dorian's fault. He's from Ravenclaw, of the old Italian House of Pavus, and he is certainly pretty enough, with large, almond shaped brown eyes, a mop of dark hair that her fingers tangle in when she kisses him for in the dark and cramped space behind the tapestry. She likes that he has a wicked sense of humour, even if he gets into trouble with the professors _all the time_ , and he's said that he likes how she flew on the pitch, especially in _that last game, when you grabbed that Snitch from right under my nose_.

Thus, they wound up here, and the two fumble and grope aimlessly, giggling all the while, but finally conclude that both of them are _thoroughly fucking gay_ , and _how did we not realise this?_

When they reconvene in the next fortnight behind the same tapestry to share their experimental findings, they have to laughingly apologise to each other. Both swear not to speak of this again and that this ridiculous secret is to be kept under wraps lest they be embarrassed beyond anything. Dorian also asks Evelyn for the password to the Slytherin common room, and she raised a brow, _did the Iron Bull not give it to you?_

 

*

 

Curfew has already started by the time she sneaks out from the Restricted Section of the library. You would think that they’ve reinforced the security to the Restricted Section, but clearly, Hogwarts doesn’t learn, and little of the rules change. She supposes that it's not really the Headmistress's fault, considering the extensive amount of damage the castle endured in the Final Battle, as it is so dubbed nowadays, but really, with the amount of dangerous material that the Section hides, they should have bothered with its security.

The Disillusionment Charm that she has cast might have prevented any patrols from spotting her in the darkness of the library, but she has four floors to descend before she'd reach the basements, and the portraits' tittering does not help matters at all. Unfortunately, she's never been particularly interested in charms, so she has, of course, forgotten the spell to render her footsteps silent. Stealing down corridors and stairwells that echo was most annoying.

She suppresses a yawn. Day after day, she has been up, conducting more and more research into both Ancient Runes and the History of Magic, trying to find the translation and context for this item she has found over the Easter Break. No, an artefact. It's an artefact and it's undeniably _cool_. Childish delight, really. That little ball she's got in her bag right now, nestled between stacks and stacks of notes she has made, an ink pot that is all too dry, a quill that needs replacing, and of course, the tome that she has found today and has delightedly poured over before she inadvertently fell asleep over the yellowed pages.

When she reaches the first floor, she freezes as she hears footsteps and sees the glow of a Lumos approaching from the two ends of the corridor. There is no way that she can reach the next stairwell without both parties spotting the flickering of air that her movements will betray, and she considers making a run for it—

She trips. Falls. Oomph. Oh, of course. Seeker reflexes chooses to fail her now, of all days. Her legs, cooperative as they are, tangle over each other. Maybe it's because her legs are stiff and aching like hell after all those practices and drills on the Pitch. Grits her teeth. The two bobbing lights move quickly towards her, and she swears softly as she removes her Disillusionment Charm, untangles her legs, and stands up. She is still dusting herself when the two prefects reach her.

"You there," one of the prefects call out. She looks at both of them and recognises the female fifth year prefects from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Oh, fantastic. "Why are you out this late?"

Evelyn turns to face the Pentaghast girl with an abashed smile on her face. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep in the library. Pince didn’t wake me up."

"Are you Maxwell's sister?" the Hufflepuff begins, but she's interrupted by Pentaghast.

"You're lying." A harsh accusation, if she has ever heard one. Evelyn raises a brow, daring the girl to elaborate. She abandons her meek mannerisms and straightens herself, and she reaches the older girl's height, if she's not taller. " _Madam_ Pince is never careless. No one would have been able to stay in the library after hours. Ten points from Slytherin for lying to a prefect, another five for the breach of curfew. Now, Snake, where have you been?"

Evelyn's eyes harden. "Why don't you crawl back into your lion's den, Pentaghast? Are you too much of a bully to simply drop the matter? Or maybe your mane's got into your ear and you can't bloody hear that I have indeed been in the library all this while!"

A noise of disgust. "You're a _Snake_ , Trevelyan. If I am to believe you, I would be accorded with the truth, and nothing less!"

"And I _am_ speaking the truth!"

"Hand over your bag, Snake."

"No."

"I said, hand over you bag."

"And I say no! Is my privacy to be invaded here? I call this a violation of human rights!"

"I'm warning you. I'll dock points if you don't cooperate, and I'll be forced to inspect your bag without your permission."

"You know what? Fuck off, Pentaghast. Grandfather Pentaghast's brains clearly did not reach his granddaughter. Cassandra Pentaghast, a lion? Laughable, really. But she's not ambitious enough to be in Slytherin, doesn’t care about her family enough to be in my house — look at Anthony! Even Helga's house doesn’t want this knuckled arse. Ravenclaw? No way in hell. I suppose foolhardiness is your only redeeming trait, so lion it is. Shall I go on, Pentaghast? "

She injects vitriol into her words, and the Pentaghast girl's eyes flare dangerously as she steps closer to Evelyn with a wand, pointing it straight at her—

"Stop it, both of you. Cassandra, back off. Trevelyan—"

"Keep out of this, Montilyet."

"Sorry?"

"You heard what I said, Montilyet. I do not let anyone make a free pass on my house as Pentaghast is doing. Unless, you want to join her? Then I suppose my detention would be more severe, but I do sometimes relish a good fight." It's been too long since she's been allowed to come to blows with anyone, verbally or not. "Or maybe, Pentaghast and I could have an illicit little duel, and you can just keep out of the dust."

Evelyn Trevelyan watches the two of the prefects warily. Only Montilyet's own Lumos lights the dark corridor up. Pentaghast is too angry to maintain the light, and she swears that Pentaghast will attack her, Montilyet's presence be damned. Discreetly, she pulls her bag off her shoulders to place it to the side.

Montilyet sighs. "I would wish that you return to your dormitory and for you to apologise to Cassandra."

"Huh. I'd apologise for my breach of curfew, but I cannot apologise for my provocation of the little lion. Also, I must say that I have heard that your family is in some dire straits lately. Ah, I forgot, Your family cannot even afford to cross the waters."

" _What_?"

Evelyn spots an incantation is on Pentaghast's lips, but she beats the prefect to it and boxes her ears even more swiftly than how a wand can be swished in the appropriate patterns. Pentaghast's wand clatters to the ground and her ears are red but fury lights her face and she lashes out at Evelyn with an angry roar, and Evelyn thinks that this might not be the best idea, because if Pentaghast's fist reaches her face she'd be out cold quite quickly — the other girl is a heavily built Beater — but it's too late to reconsider and she simply dances out of the way.

Pentaghast misses her first swing, and Evelyn jumps forward to punch her nose, and smiles with grim satisfaction as her fist collides against the cartilage and there is a horrible sound before Pentaghast's arm wraps around Evelyn and she panics for but a moment before she is thrown to the ground and the only thing she sees is stars. She shuts her eyes to let the daze fade, and winces when she knows that the next punch she receives in all of Pentaghast's savage vengeance will bruise her eye. She is about to attempt to scramble her way free, to hook Pentaghast's body and drag her down such that she may crawl out from underneath, but she hears Montilyet shout the Petrification spell twice in a row and both of them are frozen, locked into place.

"Cassandra!" Montilyet shouts as she pulls the girl's frozen body from off Evelyn. "What were you thinking? You're a prefect, you can't act as… as _base_ as this!"

She rounds on Evelyn. Her eyes blaze in her anger; what colour are they? It is completely inappropriate. Montilyet does have a really nice nose though.

"And you, Trevelyan, are going to be in so much trouble. A detention with your head of house ought to work, or maybe, I'll simply leave you to your brother."

Oh dear lord. Not Maxwell. She cannot begin to imagine her brother's disappointment in that golden gaze, all holy and good, his black and yellow Hufflepuff prefect badge gleaming on his robes…

Montilyet cancels the spell and relief floods her muscles.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, and another five from Slytherin for fighting in the corridors."

She pushes Pentaghast away, who protests, but is stared down by Montilyet and she eventually gives an annoyed huff and glares warningly at Evelyn for a bit as she stomps away.

Montilyet's attention returns to Evelyn. "Now, what will it be?"

"Professor Pucey," she whispers. "I'd rather get detention with Professor Pucey, thanks."

She does not see it coming, that _sweet smile_ , one that assures her that she will _not_ get her request for detention with Professor A. Pucey as she is marched down, not to the direction of her own dorms, but to the Hufflepuff basements to meet Maxwell's discipline for his younger sister.

 

*

 

"So, I heard you got into a fight with Cassandra." Bull's friend, Krem, bounces up to her and joins the Slytherin table. "If you're asking me, Cass was probably asking for it, uptight princess she is."

Evelyn raises her head from the breakfast table and raises a middle finger at Krem before lowering her head onto the table to snatch another five seconds of rest. Gods. Maxwell. He kept her outside the Hufflepuff basement for what felt like _forever_ , lecturing her about proper behaviour and how he was upset to hear that she assaulted a prefect, _or anyone for that matter_ , simply because she was particularly grouchy that night from not sleeping enough.

"Probably. Shouldn’t have done it though."

Krem laughs and thumps Evelyn on her back. "I hear you channelling Maxwell. Hey Bull, pour your Seeker some tea, would you? She needs a good pick-me-up. What's your brother making you do?"

The other Slytherins look up, interested in hearing what punishment the older Trevelyan has accorded for her. Bull grumbles about how he is captain and that he shouldn’t have to service Evelyn, but accedes to Krem's request nonetheless. Vivienne looks somewhat stern, chastising, Anora is probably annoyed at the loss in Slytherin's points (those she lost she can earn again anyhow), and Morrigan looks less Done With Humans than usual.

She groans as she pulls herself off the table, accepting the tea Bull pours.

"Thanks Bull." She raises her voice slightly so the rest of the table can hear. "What am I, entertainment to you guys? But if you must know," she points at her eye, "I'm meant to keep this hideous disfigurement for as long as it takes to heal, wear it around like a mark of shame, or something."

Vivienne tuts. "Doesn't suit your complexion, darling. As much as black and gold are the Trevelyan colours…"

"I _know_. I've also got to apologise to that damned lion, no offense intended to Gryffindor, Krem, it's just Pentaghast I'm insulting whenever I say 'lion' so scathingly."

"No offense taken, Evie. Cass was pretty pissed this morning though, so maybe you should avoid facing the other Gryffindors. She's bound to get someone like, oh, I don't know, one of the Hawkes maybe, to give you a talking down."

"Thanks, Krem." She gets up from her table after she downs the last of her tea. "I best be heading to the library. See you guys!" The others chorus "byes" at her and she hurries away with her bag on her shoulders.

"And Evie, do stop working so hard!"           

Leaving the Great Hall, she swerves around the first corner and thanks the Maker for her dreadful luck as she dashes straight into Josephine Montilyet, A-Girl-Who-Carries-Too-Many-Things-For-Her-Own-Good.

She falls over the girl and their limbs are twisted together and she apologises too quickly and pulls herself free as fast as she can. She apologises again as she grabs all of Montilyet's stuff, neatens the paper up and hands them over to Montilyet, who's still on the ground as she scurries off to the staircases that lead to the library.

 

*

 

Evelyn is sitting in the library, in a rather secluded corner at the back of the bookshelves, and she is scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, making notes for her upcoming exams, dratted things they are, things that she does not need when she is in the midst of a research project but oh of course she must do well for the exams, sodding plants and their properties…

"I think you dropped this."

She looks up. It's Montilyet. She blinks. Why is Montilyet seeking her out? It's been two and a half weeks since she has last run into Montilyet. She is about to say that _no_ , _she didn’t drop anything_ , before she notices that Montilyet is holding on to one of her missing notes about The Properties of Ancient Elven Artefacts.

With a yelp, she snatches it back. Then flushes as she realises her gaffe. "Sorry. I, uh. Well. Sorry. But thanks." She twists her hands. "Where did you find it?"

"Among my notes." _The ones you knocked to the ground_ is not said. A silence hangs between them for a bit. "I didn’t read it, if you're worried. I can't read it, anyhow. Didn’t take Ancient Runes. Foolishly took up Divination instead. Andraste knows that I don't have a third eye." Evelyn notices that Montilyet's hands are twisting together too.

"Thanks. I was looking for them. Didn’t think to check with you, obviously," she laughs, nervously. Why is she so nervous? It's just Montilyet.

"Your handwriting's nice. Pretty. More jagged than I'd expect from a girl, but nice."

"Uhm. Thanks." She's losing her tongue now. Ah, fuck. Does she like this girl? How ridiculously trite, the butterflies in her stomach thing. This fifth year thing, with a ridiculously pretty nose? She doesn’t know why she's so intrigued by her well-sculpted nose. There's plenty of such noses on boys like Aedan. Maybe it’s because Montilyet's eyes were, no, _are_ , really pretty. Especially so the other night. Hmm.

"Listen," she begins, licking her dry lips. "I'm sorry for assaulting Pentaghast the other night. Or for well, snidely remarking about your family. I was rude. It was uncalled for. I apologise. I'd offer some excuses for my poor behaviour, but I don’t think you'd appreciate that."

Montilyet blinks at her. "Oh, of course. I accept your apology." Something in her face shutters off, though. She cannot imagine why. "If there is nothing else—"

"Wait. Don't go. I'm working on Herbology right now. Come on Puff. Help me out, please. Sprout's leaving this year so she's all old and whatever, but she's your Head and like, I'm pretty sure all Puffs are good at Herbology. God knows Maxwell's brilliant at it. He's not willing to help me at the moment though. Considering you've accepted my apology, while Maxwell's still fuming somewhere, can you help me with this bit?"

She pauses, thinking, then adds, "If you want, I can buy you a drink or two. Shockingly, I'm not a fan of Butterbeer, but if you are so inclined to drink that concoction I'm perfectly amenable to going down to Rosmerta's for a bottle or two of those things."

Josephine Montilyet is probably just too nice to say no.

 

*

 

_Dear Evelyn,_

_You did brilliantly in the last match. Your brother screamed himself hoarse when you caught the Snitch before the Gryffindor Seeker. Us Badgers were really chuffed that Slytherin won._

_Everyone's learned of your fight with Cassandra from a month ago. It spread through the grapevine quite quickly, Maxwell's little sister losing her cool like that? To quote a first year: "But Maxwell is like a teddy bear! He doesn’t ever hurt anyone!". I'd disagree somewhat with that assessment even if Maxwell is one of the nicest people in Hufflepuff, or Hogwarts, for that matter, simply because we both know that Maxwell isn’t sunshine and rainbows all day long._

_If you must know, the rumours are painting you as somewhat of a martyr, standing up against an overbearing prefect. Strangely, some think that it's Sera's work. You know, that third year that's always getting into trouble with poor Cole? I must say that even the Weasley bunch do a much better job of not getting caught by me whenever they mess around, save for that one time they managed to unleash one of those toys into a fifth year double potions class last year, and caused utter catastrophe, if memory serves. Leliana speculates that your image is somewhat less tarnished because of someone else's hand. I hear that even Victoire Weasley has argued in your favour too. Apparently, Cassandra got on the Head Girl's bad side._

_Your great triumph over The Prefect aside, how did you do in your exams? I hope you did well for Herbology. I would hate to hear that my efforts with you have gone to waste. Anything less than an "Outstanding" with you seems to be impossible. My summer has been pretty nice, so far. I'm with my family in Spain. Father plans to bring us to Belgium soon, I have heard. ~~Mother has fretted~~. It's really warm here, but the sea is gorgeous. _

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Josephine._

She begins writing to the older girl over the summer, thanking her for tuition efforts, and that yes, she did indeed attain an O in her fourth year exams. Josephine, of course, congratulates her, and tells Evelyn that she obtained exceptional O.W.Ls results.

Summer is an endless stretch of heat, and she cannot wait for autumn to come and rid her of the stickiness on her skin the second the cooling charms wear off. When Maxwell asks who she's writing to, she tells him to bugger off and waves pictures of his French girlfriends in front of him and he can only swat her away. With little else to do, they go about their usual summer hobbies of reading, riding, dancing, drawing, playing Quidditch. They also invite their friends over when their parents leave the "house" for their yearly sabbatical off in a frozen wasteland or other. It's nice, but dull, and Josephine's letters are one of the few highlights of her summer.  

Evelyn is perhaps a little disappointed when Josephine apologises for not being able to remove herself from her family's company. She is half tempted to visit the other country but has to dismiss that foolish notion when Maxwell reminds her of the trouble it takes to obtain an International Portkey without mother and father's help.

 

*

 

She doubts a four-leaved clover will do her any good.

After the holidays, she continues to spend time with Josephine, yes, maybe even dares to flirt a little, but mostly, she jokes and maintains the façade that she merely enjoys the girl's company as a friend, and that no way in hell is she in any way attracted to her. She stutters over her words when she has to say something before thinking it in her head, like the time when Josephine gives her a souvenir from her holiday in Belgium and she does not know what to say but numbly hands a wooden carving over in return, and thanks the Maker that she actually prepared something presentable as a gift.

It is agonising, really, to pretend not to be staring at how Josephine's hair escapes her braided bun after hours in the library together. Or how she stares so intently at her work before her, her lips quirking slightly whenever she understands something. Or how she bites her lips when she doesn’t. Or maybe she does not want to acknowledge that she is utterly mesmerised by Josephine's eyes, trying to figure out what shade they're in. So far, she's determined that they look greener in the sunlight and more of a cool brown when the sun sets, but she cannot be sure.

She decides that they have been spending too much time together. Ordinarily, she grows bored with someone once the glittery sheen of a first impression wears off. This one does not.

She is terrified that this crush isn’t going away, that she now knows the exact swirls and loops in Josephine's handwriting, of how she writes so furiously and consistently that the nibs of her quills wear out quickly.

Josephine likes the Spanish summers best, loves how the blue expanse of ocean meets the shoreline in gentle laps and waves. She did not like Butterbeer when she first came to Hogwarts, but over time, finds that she enjoyed it. She's in Hufflepuff, and as such, has an undying love of all things yellow, but she favours blue and green as well.

Josephine tells her of her family, of how young Yvette is _utterly_ _impossible_ , as is Antoine and Laurien, and that her youngest brother Frédéric is proving to have more sense than his three older siblings. By the time Halloween is over, she's sure that she knows Josephine's family better than she knows her own.

It is unacceptable.

There are always two ways to solve a problem.

The first is to confront it. She has too much self-preservation for that. And, her brother will say, too stupid to choose the more efficient solution. Thus, she elects the second option, which is, of course, to avoid it. Avoiding problems require distractions, and she distances herself from Josephine and falls into a tryst with Marian Hawke, who is equally as cowardly about her emotions about another girl, Gryffindor-ness be damned.

Of course, it is Josephine Montilyet who catches her in the act.         

It is thoroughly undignified. Their hair's a mess, their faces all flushed and sweaty, and they are in a broom closet. Her lipstick has rubbed on Marian's neck. The door flings open on them and they tumble out into a darkened corridor, and again, Evelyn finds herself in the unfortunate position at having Josephine standing over her, a menacing figure in long black robes.

"Get out," Josephine's voice is cold. Her face wears a strange expression that Evelyn cannot place. "Evelyn, you're a prefect. Do act like one."

With that, she stalks away. Both she and Marian are dumbfounded for a moment. Evelyn blinks owlishly after the girl's retreating figure. Marian finally breaks the strange silence with a humourless laugh.

"Oh, she's the one, ain't she, Evie? Did you see her? She barely accorded me even a glance. You, however…"

Evelyn scowls.

 

*

 

She flies recklessly. It's the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff match, their first match of the year, and she flies recklessly. She swoops and pulls up just before she hits the ground countless times.

"Trevelyan, stop flying with your head in your arse!" Bull yells at her as he whacks a Bludger away from her.

"Sorry!" She gives a mock salute. "Aye aye, captain!"

Bull waves her away before he zooms off, probably to look for a Bludger to harangue one of the poor Hufflepuff chasers.

She's not sorry at all. Today's a perfect day for flying. Utterly perfect. The sun is wiped out entirely by the swathes of storm clouds, lighting flashes and thunder crashes loudly. She barely hears Bull over the noise. An _Impervious_ charm has already been cast over their rain goggles, but visibility is still pretty darn low. She's soaked through, shivering like hell but she doesn’t bother with another charm. The cold keeps her awake, alert.

Captain's orders, then. She continues zipping around, swerving between the Puff Chasers, narrowly avoiding them and they yell obscenities at her.

"10 POINTS TO HUFFLEPUFF!"

No matter, Slytherin's in the lead. There are a few fresh faces in the Hufflepuff team this year for most of the previous team members have graduated, and she isn’t surprised to see that a Weasley is their new Seeker. She's got them all messed up in her head, but she's pretty sure that this one is Molly the Second. It’s the Weasley girl's first game, and so far, they're having as much luck as each other in this weather. No matter. She has a year up on her a Seeker, but she isn’t going to allow complacence to tarnish her performance.

Rather, she's having a little too much fun at his expense. Flying this publicly, this wildly, of course, is also liberating. The whole school is watching her fly as she is.

Here, on the pitch, is somewhere that she may pretend that there are no chains on her. Nothing that she owes anyone, not her family or anyone else. Here, she is just Evelyn. Evelyn has no worries, and the only thing she has to do is to keep on flying and catch a golden ball with wings.

She's not as mean, or as skilled, yet, to try a Wronski Feint on Weasley, but no one is stopping her from the near crashes so long as she isn’t flying at breakneck speed. Breakneck. Huh. Nice term.

Tips her broom sideways. Avoids Bludger.

Boos when Hufflepuff scores. Twice in a row. Yells angrily at Blackwall. Bull offers something more uplifting instead.

Her hands are bloody numb from the cold.

Breakneck speed is named aptly, she discovers, as she nearly crashes into Weasley, who makes the universal gesture for "sod off" with her middle finger.

She laughs, and cheers when Slytherin scores.

The scoreboard reads 120-90. The match is nowhere near its end, and the Snitch is nowhere in sight. Yet. Visibility is near zero.

Or maybe, she's wrong.

There is a glimmer of gold, and she shoots at it.

From her periphery, she sees Weasley staring after her target, unsure if Evelyn is having her on again. Weasley squints through the relentless torrent of rain, then her mouth opens a little in shock before she swoops after her. She's too far from her, though, and her right hand closes over the Snitch with ease before she registers a sharp pain to the back of her head and she is hurling through the skies, towards the green pitch below, she is sure, one that she can't see due to the poor lighting and _shite_ _no one can see her falling, can they?,_ but all she can think of then is to cling onto the elusive little Snitch and not let go.

Maybe she should have held on more tightly to her broom.

She does not hear the frantic screams from the stand as they realise that the shape falling towards the ground is the Slytherin Seeker. She does not see Maxwell's face when he realises one of his fellow Beaters knocked a Bludger into his sister the second that the Slytherins won the game. She also does not see how another face in the stand of yellow and black contorts with horror, and holds her breath so tightly before she lets it out in a slight shriek when Evelyn hits the ground.

A sickening crunch. Pain. It Hurts.

 _Fuck it_.

Black.

 

***

_"Are you sure that she's going to be alright?"_

_"Of course. Maker, that Brosca kid is going to drown in guilt. I'm going to have to tell him that Evie's broken her legs more than once before, so she's not likely to stage a manhunt with the rest of the Snakes."_

_"More than **once**?"_

_"You heard me. She broke them the first time when she was five, that was stupid, really, and my fault, because I dared her to climb a tree. Bloody tall tree it was. Towered above us. Father had the tree chopped down afterward, and made into a bunch of wooden decorations. Mother had one of them placed in her room, to remind her of her folly. Broke it again two years later when we borrowed some brooms from the village to fly on. Father nearly flayed the poor villager. Evie lied, said we stole them. After she found some way to heal herself, father beat her instead. The third time, she was ten, and mother says that she was riding a horse, chasing after something or other, and her horse spooked and threw her. She broke them again last Christmas, trying to escape her room. I think she was locked in there because she refused to go to the Chantry on Christmas Eve. Research project. Forgot her wand and cursed herself all the way during her fall. Lousy plans she has. How she made Slytherin, I have no idea."_

_"Hey, you talkin' 'bout me, Maxy?"_

***

 

She is still in the Hospital Wing when Maxwell approaches her bed with a too bright smile and she's instantly wary. She eyes him, and they proceed to engage in a little staring contest before she reaches for a box of Bertie Bott's.

Ugh. Earthworm. Hadn't she had enough taste of the ground by now?

Maxwell chuckles, taking a bean she's sure is grass, and his face scrunches up in disgust too before he grabs the box away from her and shoves it beneath her pillow, and she cannot help but laugh.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Yes, yes, hello Max. How's the cry fest in your basement? I'm sure that you Puffs got enough sweets to grumble about my win. Nurse's refusing to give me more medication. Says my history of broken bones is utterly horrendous."

"Little wonder. Listen to the nurse, kid."

She makes a noise of disgruntlement.

Maxwell smiles, somewhat indulgently. "So. You think Josephine's really pretty."

"Pardon?"

"Well, you did say you thought Josephine _as pretty as the sun that shines in the morning, with eyes as lovely in all their capriciousness, and lips I'd so love to explore."_

She groans. "You can't be pulling my leg, can you, Maxwell?"

Maxwell laughs. "Oh, dear Maker. You don't remember?"

"What do I not remember?" Maxwell continues laughing. "Maxwell!"

"Oh my. You really don't. So, you're all drugged up and all. Really cute. Giggling. The Snakes have all been shooed out, the Serpentine Prefects have to pretty much drag the lot down, but she and I, being prefects, are grudgingly allowed to remain. There's this concerned furrow on her forehead even though I assure her that you've broken your legs more than this once…"

"Can you skip the purple prose?"

"No. Don't interrupt me. Anyway, we return to your bedside, and you giggle as you poke my forehead and do this weird stage whispering thing and tease me about how my hair's all stuck up like a porcupine, and remember, how when I was a kid I tried picking one up and well, of course it didn’t end well, foolish little Max. Then you look at me and grab me closer and ask if I thought if Josephine's as pretty as you think she is, and you continue giggling as we stare at you, wondering if it's all a haze induced thing, or if you really do think that she's pretty, before you proceed to wax poetic."

"Dear Maker."

"Dear Maker, indeed." Maxwell pulls a chair up to her bed. "So, when were you going to tell me about your crush on Josephine?"

"Butt off, Maxwell."

"Please, I'm your brother. A brother who just so happens to be very interested in a stereotypically female pastime, otherwise known as gossip and other such inane trivialities. But if you don’t want to tell me, fine. I'll back off. Juicy details can come when you've finally got the girl and all that shite."

"Language, Maxwell."

"Mother's not here, is she, to scrub my mouth out? But really, Evelyn. You know Leliana, don't you? As such, I would warn you not to mess with Josephine. Leliana's brutal when you hurt someone she's close to. You understand me?"

"Yes, of course. Should I expect a visit from her, then?"

"You better."

"Do I get a piece of good news, something to salvage my damaged pride?"

"She doesn't dislike you, I'll give you that. In fact, she probably blushed a tad before stiffening and stalking away. On that, what _did_ you do to her?"

"I should start from the start, yes? Anyway, you know about my fight with Pentaghast last year?"

"Of course. I've not been living as a Chasind all this while you know."

"Well, sit and listen, Maxwell. Eat a Chocolate Frog or something while you wait. So, I'd somehow acquired Herbology help from her last year, did pretty well in my exams. We wrote each other over summer. She got me this thing from Belgium. I found her a little gift. Life goes on, as per normal, we study in the library together. Then it hits me that I kind of really like her, because, like, while I've always regarded her as someone rather… attractive, shall we say, since my thing with Pentaghast, I thought it was a passing fancy that would go away once I got to know her better. You know how it is."

Maxwell groans. "And you panic. Unbelievable." He doesn’t even need to wait for her nod. "So what did you do to upset her so?"

"I, uh, might have found my way into a couple of broom closets with Marian Hawke. Marian's got her own troubles, with Merrill and Isabela, so we kind of just jumped at the opportunity to well, jump into restrictive spaces. Josephine caught us at one of our meetings. I didn’t really intend for that."

"You rarely do. For a Slytherin, you're really bad at these things. Planning. Manipulating any form of emotion, your own or not."

"Oh, do shush. It's not as if you're that much better."

He ignores the last part with a wave of his hand. "Well, you do have your other talents. Ridiculous single-mindedness and sheer bullarsery for one." Maxwell frowns. "You should apologise."

"I know."

"After you make a sincere apology, you may then consider asking my fellow prefect out. Maker knows that I don’t want Josephine to throw herself into work in avoidance of _her_ own feelings."

"Thanks, Maxwell."

Maxwell stands up. "I best get going. I've got to comfort Brosca. Maybe knock some sense into him, force him to attend more of those aim practice sessions to avoid the back of someone's head the next time…"

She waves him off as she falls back onto her pillows.

Maxwell is at the door when he turns back to say, "By the way, she's coming for the Christmas Ball this year."

 

*

 

In a conciliatory measure, she stops avoiding the library. As a buffer, she drags a very bemused Isabela with her whenever she visits the library, and the face Marian Hawke makes when she sees Isabela _studying_ in the library is almost worth Josephine's own expression when Marian joins the two of them.

 

*

 

"And I'm your relationship counsellor?" Dorian is completely incredulous. She'd laugh at his expression, if she isn’t so concerned about something else.

Evelyn purses her lips. "We worked out our first relationship together pretty well together, if you recall. I can't see why you aren't available for relationship advice and shite."

Dorian allows her to take another swig of the Firewhiskey.

"Not to mention," she continues, "I can trust you not to blabber about my issues to anyone. While I trust my friends, I'm not exactly going to Vivienne or Isabela for relationship advice. Vivienne would probably scoff at my silly sentimentalities. Or maybe laugh at my queer little reserves. Isabela isn’t that great in the crush department either, like, you know, she, Merrill, and Marian are working out some weird thing right now and none of us can begin to understand that dynamic. I've been asking Maxwell about stuff, but you know, he's all upright and great and _holier than thou_ …"

She makes a frustrated noise. Why can't she be like Maxwell, with the appropriate amount of emotional intelligence to tide him through every little bump he meets in his social life?

"You need more friends," Dorian pats her shoulder in sympathy. "Sarcasm, quick wit, and scathing remarks becomes you and me. How would you even begin to form the notion that I can do anything about your situation?"

"I don't know! It's better than me, alone, doing anything!"

"There, there. More Firewhiskey?"

"Thanks."

"Is it just me, or are you not a little cold?"

"Firewhiskey solves all." She unfurls her green scarf from her neck. "But here, you sweet summer child. How have you ever survived Scottish winters? It's warmer this year than the previous."

"I don't think that I've ever tried freezing my butt off. I Look at us. We're sitting on snow. Leaning against a frozen wall. I can't believe I let you talk me into this. It seems that we've both gone completely batty."

She smiles, faintly, and looks up at the grey sky. "You see, a lack of emotional intelligence does not always equate to poor oratorical skills."

Dorian rolls his eyes. "My dear Evelyn, you may just be the most persuasive person in our entire year, but would you please just get this _'long-standing crush with an inability to just go away like a proper one_ ' resolved? I don't care if you borrow some liquid courage," Dorian thrusts the bottle at her, "but I wish you the best."

 

*

 

Maxwell is right. He always is.

She hates that he's always right.

It's the week before Christmas, and honestly, she has been expecting it to happen for days on end now. It's had her on her toes, quite literally, because Leliana's not that tall and while she is not vertically challenged at all, she'd rather spot Leliana before the older girl finds her.

And if she had a bigger streak of honesty, she'd admit that she'd rather get this over with. Ever since Marian joined them in the library, even with Merrill, Josephine has shifted her position from their table and has elected to work in a "quieter part of the library". She cannot fault her. A bigger measure of honesty would probably allow her larynx to form the proper words, but no, her proclivity to avoidance and stalling can be positively annoying most times.

 

*

 

"Well, aren’t you one for romantic spaces?"

Evelyn tries offering a smirk even as she rubs the back of her head from being shoved into the alcove. She hit the back of her head, again. At the rate she's going, the back her head will require a permanent cushioning charm.

"Be serious for once, can you?"

"I've been told that I'm perfectly capable of that, yes."

"Sometimes, I can believe that. Other times, however, you give me cause for concern. Unless you're seeing Dorian, which, I must say that I'd be very surprised about, considering his admittedly discreet predilections towards those of the male populace, I would ask if you're trying to get involved with Josie, or if you're simply toying around with her."

"Sorry?"

Leliana rolls her eyes. "Don't pretend to be daft. We both know that you're smarter than the average fifteen year old."

"Actually, I'm sixteen. Spent my birthday celebrating my discharge from the Hospital Wing."

"Yes, yes, fine, here's a belated happy birthday, Trevelyan. So, would you stop dodging my question?"

"Leliana, please rephrase your statement into a question."

"Stalling, again?" She can practically hear Leliana's inner monologue of _just play along, this once_ even as she huffs in annoyance."I've noticed that you’ve been trying to spend more time with Josie lately. I cannot abide by anyone stringing Josie around. So, if you intend _anything_ with her, I want to know."

"If I may ask, why are you so concerned over this?"

"Vivienne is a complete Snake, and it may just be her inbuilt tendencies to uphold the Slytherin fraternity, but she keeps boys like Cailan away from you. In this regard, she and I are not so different. Josephine is my friend, and I do not want Josie hurt. And Josie? Josie is easily hurt. Sometimes, I worry that she spends too much time in a castle on a cloud."

Evelyn doesn’t say anything for a long time, and the two sit on the ground. Leliana's piercingly blue eyes never leave her face for a moment, and she fights the urge to fold her arms defensively. Anything to protect herself from Leliana. She's never been the subject of Leliana's scrutiny before — or if she has, she has not noticed — and she now knows why the rest of the school is so utterly terrified of her. Most days, Leliana's as pleasant as a bird in summer, but here, she is nothing less than a bird of prey.

She clears her throat.

"I like her," she says at last. "I don't know." Bites her lip. "Well, no, I do mean that I like her, and I do wish that I may ask her out, but will she have me? I don't know that. Maxwell's been onto me already, so I've already determined that I'd better apologise, if nothing else. I don't know what to do. Dorian says that I'm hopeless at anything to do with personal relationships. He's right. My tongue twists whenever it comes to her. She's been the one doing all the talking. I lose any semblance of eloquence around her. Maker. I'm really not getting to the point, am I? You're her friend, and I'm pretty glad that she has a friend in you, but honestly, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Maybe if I backtracked a step or two I could have just blabbered a request to take her down to Hogsmeade…"

"Well, I suppose I could help you out a little. Call in some favours. But remember, whatever you do, I'll be watching. Treat her well. For her sake, and yours. Good day, Evelyn."

With that, Leliana leaves. Evelyn stares at the flapping tapestry, completely dumbfounded. What just happened? Did Leliana, of all people, just promise to maim and help her in the same sentence?

*

 

She pesters Elissa Cousland, Head Girl, to switch her prefect schedules around. Cousland initially refuses, but she suspects that it is Leliana who makes Cousland relent with a few stern words and a grin of "good luck!". Seeing as her luck isn't running dry as of yet, she also makes Cousland confess something such that she wins twenty Galleons over Isabela.

Maxwell refuses to lend her both the Felix Felicis and Amorentia that the sixth years have brewed. Since liquid luck isn’t readily available, she takes some of the Slytherin stash of Firewhiskey for herself and downs some of it. She has to glare at Isabela, who cannot stop giggling when she finds out what Evelyn plans to do tonight. Another bet is on. _Thanks Isabela, for the lack of faith._

Luck. Courage. Whatever. She'd need it for this set of rounds that they're to make.

 

*

 

They're walking down a dark corridor together. She checks her watch. It's been ten minutes, and they're running out of pleasantries to exchange. Neither of them enjoy awkward silences, so they fill them with stilted conversation. It's probably worse than allowing silence to engulf them.

"Look," she starts, "I don't think you've deserved my recent treatment."

Josephine's expression doesn't change. Her face is a polite mask as she watches her, and Evelyn swallows, her left hand pulling at her robes. They have stopped walking.

"It's been horribly rotten of me." She bites her tongue. All this tongue and lip biting lately, she's growing so proficient at it that it's wasted on herself. "I know that. Deliberately avoiding you is rude. Completely rude. And I've been doing just that. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Is there anything else?"

"I…" She takes a breath. "I can grovel in front of you, to beg for forgiveness, if you'd like."

"Is there anything I should be forgiving?"

"Marian," she replies automatically.

A perfectly plucked eyebrow is raised. "If you think that I should be concerning myself over your private affairs…"

Evelyn pulls at her robe again. "Well, you needn't. But you know what I mean. I, well, our relationship, this thing… How do I even start when we've not entered any formal agreement?"

Where's that hole that she may hide in? Her word choices are utterly terrible, and she knows that Josephine thinks it.

"I know I've been nothing but a complete prick since I've started speaking to you, save for maybe that little interlude of peace, but if you're willing to put my previous atrocious behaviour behind you, I promise that there's never going to be a repeat of this."

Josephine lets out a sigh. "I do not wish for you to make promises you cannot keep."

"Then I'll try to keep them!"

She'd do anything, anything. Her heart beats more quickly. Is she considering accepting her apology?

"You apologised, once, for insulting my family name. I let that slide. This time, you're proposing something that will potentially hurt my standing among the nobility, you understand that?"

"I…yes."

"The rumour mill at Hogwarts is ever efficient."

"I realise."

"The Trevelyans will not be happy to hear of our tryst. Mother will not be happy that any of my potential suitors think that I am anything less than… well."

"Tongues will wag. Let them. My family has never liked me, whatever I did. If you so wish, we can keep it quiet, something private. I don’t care if I'm something like this dirty stain upon your name that you hide away from the public eye. As long as, say, I get to, uh, remain in your presence, privately, for any extended period of time, I'm completely willing to go ahead with any of your terms. Anything. You say the word, and off I go."

She's staring so intently at Josephine she swears her heart will burst. Josephine is looking at her. For Maker's sake. She's looking at her, properly, for the first time in what seems like a year. Of course, her perception is _completely screwed up_ , but does that matter?

"I do not want a pet. If I wanted that, there are _so many_ options here. What I want is important, but I think that I want you to be equally important as I am if 'we're to enter a formal agreement', that's what you said, yes?"

Josephine gives a small laugh. Gods. She is lovely.

"I think something can be arranged, Evelyn. Maker, if anyone hears us…" She shakes her head. "It doesn’t have to be this formal, but are you going to make me a promise that you'll try to keep?"

"Name it."

Her heart skips a beat when Josephine leans closer. A ghost of a breath.

"Do you promise," she breathes, "to not flee from me whenever you're scared of something between us?"

She stares at Josephine. She can barely think, much less process the entire request. Has she simply summed all her _avoidance issues_ up to prevent them with one promise? But those eyes — is there any way that she can say _no_?

"I'll sweeten up the deal. I'll… tell you of anything that worries me. In turn, you'll do the same. Not children, we are not. And if you meet any issues with… I don’t know, your family, or someone, you'll tell me, and we'll work it out together. Yes?"

Josephine exhales. "That will suffice. How do you wish to seal the deal, Trevelyan?"

"With a kiss, my lady."

"And so it shall be."

 _And so it shall be_ , she thinks, giddily, as she leans into Josephine's lips.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And hey, here's a belated Merry Christmas? This work may possibly be part of a larger series at hand, especially considering that I do aim to write fluffy HP!AU things, and that this fic is tagged Getting Together for a reason. Established Relationship things are cute. If you'd like you may comment and such, but thanks for reading!


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